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What’s cookin in Parma?
Eerie symbolism or lighthearted public art? These appeared in the Piazzale della Pace just before our graduation. Turns out they are part of a gastronomic festival…
Yesterday was a long long long day for everyone at Unisg but particularly for the academic panel who had to sit through 24 oral presentations, including 3 of them by video link, using skype. The scope of what we had all done for our internships was huge, and it would have been entertaining had it not been so gruelling. Handicapped by a 45 minute late start, by lunchtime what with one thing and another we were running about 2 hours late, and we started a further half hour late after the break. By the time I started my presentation at 5.55pm (scheduled start time: 2.40) the panel and the unfortunates farther down the alphabet were looking decidedly peaky.
Those of us who were finished just barely in time to catch the last bus to Parma (6.15) ran down the stairs, our gleeful bubble rudely popped when we found the gates to the courtyard chained and padlocked, with no escape, cruelly in sight of the bus stop, where our orange beauty sat idling. Luckily, someone with keys emerged just then for a smoke and released us. We sprinted across the cobblestones to the bus’s shut door; we knocked and waved at the driver. He waved back. A comedian, just what you want after a blinding day of over-running presentations…
We did eventually get back to Parma, and had an over-indulgent meal at La Filoma which I’d been wanting to revisit since my first meal there just about a year ago. Here’s my seasonal booty, faraona, guinea fowl with, if memory serves, a bit of culatello in the middle and some buttery mushrooms next door.
Then followed an overindulgent farewell to Tabarro, our class winebar, opened to us for a private party:
Speaking of overindulgence, we made a farewell reunion celebratory finale visit to Ristorante Mosaiko on Saturday, where I sank into bliss with some foie gras on ricotta pancakes….
and ended up with just too much to choose from for dessert: a pear and almond slice, a chocolate of all chocolate tarts and a smidgen of heavenly tiramisu.
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Somewhere–
I happened to hear a song on the radio yesterday, that I’ve been hearing all year: Somewhere Over the Rainbow/What a Wonderful World and I looked it up to discover the singer, Israel Kamakawiwo Ole, has been dead for a decade. The single was only released last year which explains its late arrival in my lalala. Other than his gorgeous voice and great tunes, two things took me aback when I looked him up. One was the enormous girth of the man – it was this girth which ultimately killed him at the age of 38 – and the other was that he and I shared a birthday. Well, here’s his greatest hit:
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Another countdown
Commencing the last seven days in Parma; my final report is done, and must only be presented at Monday’s all-day marathon back on campus. Then there will be graduation festivities of various times. A few more visits to my friends at Poste Italiane and I’m outta here.
Not the most enthralling week. Monday was enlivened by the visit of an aspirapolvere salesman – my first door to door salesman in Italian. He was, he swore, more eager to show me the wonderful cleaning abilities of his product than to sell me anything, but left swiftly when I said I would not be living there much longer. I would have thought the complete absence of carpets would be a bit of a drawback too, but never mind.
The rest of the week I can’t really account for; a couple of coffees with people, and a lot of report writing and packing of boxes, half maddened by dodgy internet connections. Yesterday a long walk in the twilight in search of a quad band mobile phone to replace my more limited relic; I ended up in the horrific churn of Esselunga (its name means ‘long S’ – just like its rather unattractive logo) and with the help of the kind man at the electronics counter managed to achieve my objective and leave quickly. Happier still when I managed to find the English language settings on the phone and get it operational.
Today I’ve been reading something of relevance, as I cook my way through the remaining dry goods in my cupboard. It’s a continuation of earlier reports that British shoppers throw away a third of what they buy – which when you think about it, as Wrap has, is like throwing one of every three bags of groceries straight into the garbage. I would be hugely surprised if other developed-world shoppers throw away anything less than this; I haven’t seen anything that reports on Canadian food waste, but I did find a report from 2004 that said Americans don’t eat half the food they produce, although other reports suggest a more conservative one-quarter waste rate. Which I frankly don’t believe. Be that as it may, I’ve enjoyed the challenge of using things up. Leftovers cuisine: can there be anything more random?
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In her latest collection, Rhona McAdam navigates the dark places of human movement through the earth and the exquisite intricacies lingering in backyard gardens and farmlands populated by insects and pollinators, all the while returning to the body, to the tune of staccato beats and the newly discovered symmetries within the human heart.
“…A beautiful, filling collection, Larder is a set of poems to read at the change of the seasons, to appreciate alongside a good meal, and to remind yourself of the beauty in everything, even the things you may not appreciate before opening McAdam’s collection….”
Rhona McAdam is a writer, poet, editor, and Registered Holistic Nutritionist with a Master’s in Food Culture from Italy and a deep-rooted passion for ecology and urban agriculture. Her work spans corporate and technical writing to poetry and creative nonfiction, often exploring the vital links between what we eat and how we live. Based in Victoria, BC, and available via Zoom, Rhona is always open to new writing commissions, readings, or workshops on nutrition and the culinary arts.
